


This Is Hungry Work

by blithelybonny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's going to give Malfoy his wand back when the time is right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Hungry Work

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier's Take Me to Church. This is a drabble series (100 words each, with two double drabbles) that I started last year, took a small break from, and then returned to and completed. Hope you enjoy! :D

**One**

Malfoy’s eyes have always been the cold, unforgiving grey of London in winter, except when he’s afraid. 

He watches from across the bedroom, as Harry removes the small box from his trunk and runs calloused fingers over the lid. Harry hears the hopeful intake of breath, and his lips curve up in a smile. 

“What do you reckon, Malfoy?”

But Malfoy just cocks his head, as if unaccustomed to being spoken to, whether by Harry in a non-confrontational tone or at all, even. Then, his eyes narrow, and he turns back to his own trunk.

Harry nods -- not time yet.

 

**Two**

“It seems louder, doesn’t it?” Harry asks. He dips his toast into a yolk and brings it to his mouth. Somehow even the bites crunch louder in his ears. 

Ron shrugs and returns to his breakfast, but Hermione closes her eyes for a moment and listens to the Great Hall hum.

There are so many students here. Hogwarts always seemed a finite place, but there are so many people here now, they seem to overflow the walls. There is always someone close by, always someone talking to him, always someone wanting his attention.

“The woods were quiet,” Hermione then offers.

 

**Three**

Ginny’s eyes blaze, but she nods as if she’s been expecting the conversation. Harry doesn’t know what to say other than that he’s not ready to pick up where they left off, and she seems to accept it.

“Perhaps we’ll get the timing right someday,” she says, a half-smile on her lips.

Harry smiles back at her. “Just promise you won’t wait.”

She laughs and replies, “I’ve never really been good at waiting.”

After a gentle kiss, she leaves, and Harry feels lighter somehow. It’s a bittersweet farewell, but a necessary one. She deserves someone who knows what he wants.

 

**Four**

A stuttered breath-- the slick slide of hands on sweaty skin--

Harry turns his head toward Malfoy’s bed, though he can’t see anything through the curtains and the darkness beyond.

It might not be what he thinks. It might be a nightmare. But Harry’s not going to pretend he didn’t hear. He’s not stupid, and he knows Malfoy isn’t either. It had to have been deliberate: the forgetting of a Charm they have known since fifth year.

Unless of course Malfoy couldn’t because Malfoy doesn’t have what he needs. But Malfoy’s far too proud to ask for what he needs.

 

**Five**

It would be nothing to make the first move. That’s what Gryffindors do. Slytherins only do it when it’s advantageous, and it’s rarely advantageous to move first.

Unless it’s chess, maybe. But Harry was never good at chess.

Malfoy refuses to look at Harry anymore. It’s as if his eyes just slide past Harry when he scans the room, a permanent sort of Notice-Me-Not.

Harry watches Malfoy anyway-- waits-- smiles as Malfoy’s eyes alight on his own for a half-second before sliding away again.

“Harry.” Hermione draws his attention, and her eyes are shrewd. Harry just smiles at her too.

 

**Six**

The tension is obvious in the rigid line of Malfoy’s spine. Though he sits behind Malfoy and can’t see, Harry imagines a tight jaw working to keep from saying something.

Harry’s used to speeches about his life from people who know nothing about it, but the professor’s lecture has gone beyond the realm of education into blatant flattery. So Harry raises his hand and says, “Don’t forget it was Malfoy’s wand I needed to use.”

Malfoy cocks his head just so, angling toward Harry without actually turning.

“I couldn’t have succeeded otherwise,” Harry continues, eyes on Malfoy. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

 

**Seven**

“I’m not your project!” Malfoy spits. He’s wild with frustration; his hair and his robes are a riot. He looks like a caged animal as he paces the small space between their beds.

Beneath the fury, Harry can see the truth: Malfoy is lost.

Harry shrugs. “I never said you were,” he says quietly. “I just thought that maybe we could try something new. If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“I-- you just--” Malfoy cuts off with a growl and flings himself onto his own bed. The curtains flick shut immediately.

Harry cannot contain his grin. Progress.

 

**Eight**

Hermione is fundamentally more practical and emotionally-aware than Ron is, so it surprises Harry when Ron is the first to acknowledge that something has changed. It’s heartening, whether or not Ron comes to him because of Hermione’s influence.

“Quidditch is the great equalizer,” Ron offers, tossing Harry a deactivated Snitch that quickly comes to life in his hands. “It might be worth a try.”

Harry encloses the Snitch in his palm, and the fluttering wings tickle his skin. He smiles up at Ron. “Not a bad idea, thanks.”

Ron shrugs, his expression uncertain. “Just be careful.”

“Will do,” Harry replies.

 

**Nine**

Harry finds the Snitch on his pillow next to a scrap of parchment that reads _Absolutely not._ He counts it a win that he gets an answer at all.

“I mean that, Potter.”

He turns to find Malfoy standing in the doorway to their room, his expression guarded. Harry doesn’t know why this feels so important; only that it does. He lets go of the Snitch, and it darts between them, the buzz of its wings deafening against the stretching silence.

“I won’t beg you,” Harry then says.

Malfoy flicks out a hand and plucks the Snitch from the air.

 

**Ten**

Harry can’t breathe. All morning, the crush of bodies pushed him along the halls -- suffocating, thunderous noise.

The tightness in his chest doesn’t loosen until he’s outside and in the air. The early winter wind buffets him back and forth, and when he lets go the Snitch and gives chase, the weight at his shoulders lifts. Flying has always been freeing.

The Snitch zings toward the stands, and Harry pulls up short, surprised and pleased. 

Malfoy cocks his head, defiant. “I’m not playing you know,” he calls.

“I know,” Harry calls back, grinning wide. “But it’s more fun with two…”

 

**Eleven**

It’s a game now, Harry thinks, as Malfoy re-folds the note Harry just sent him and sends it back with a charm, but it’s a game that Harry is certain that he’s winning.

“You’re having fun,” Hermione says, nudging his shoulder.

“Might be,” Harry answers. He reaches up and grabs the fluttering note.

_I’m seriously not playing, Potter. And stop wasting parchment._

“Looks a bit like he is too.” Hermione quirks her head in Malfoy’s direction, and Harry quickly follows her gaze.

Malfoy cannot hide his smile in time, and when he drops his head again, Harry clutches Hermione’s fingers.

 

**Twelve**

“Why are you doing this, Potter?” Malfoy’s question lacks the angry heat from when he’d asked before.

Curiosity becomes him, Harry thinks, as he takes in the cautious vulnerability that flickers across Malfoy’s face. His eyes are less cold, and the pinched look of bullying superiority is gone, leaving in its place a person, just like any other person-- a person just trying to get on in a world no longer plagued by the threat of an imminent, violent death.

“I’ve already told you why,” Harry then answers.

Malfoy cocks his head, processing. Then he nods and says, “All right.”

 

**Thirteen**

Harry wakes with a strangled cry. Panic sits heavy on his chest-- he can’t breathe.

It’s a nightmare, he knows that, but he can still feel the Inferi pulling at him, trying to drag him underneath. He turns his head, inhaling sharply through his nose and exhaling through barely-parted lips. His lungs burn with the need for air.

Malfoy’s bed-curtains are open, but Malfoy isn’t there. 

“You’re tangled up.” Malfoy’s voice is soft, but strikes deftly through the haze, and Harry whips his head back. Malfoy’s hands hover over the bedspread like he wants to help. 

“Please,” Harry murmurs.

Malfoy pulls back the coverlet, and Harry sucks in a lungful of cool air. He raises his knees and kicks out at the remaining bed-clothes until he’s free. There’s nothing left but his bedroom and the soft sleepy sounds of his dorm-mates. No monsters-- just Malfoy.

“You’re all right, Potter,” Malfoy whispers.

Harry nods, but when Malfoy starts to step away, he shoots out a hand, grasps Malfoy’s wrist and holds him there. “Don’t...not yet.” 

Malfoy looks at where they touch. Then the bed dips, and Malfoy’s hip settles against Harry’s thigh, a firm weight, but not a heavy one. 

 

**Fourteen**

Hermione rests her head on Ron’s shoulder, and Ron curls her more closely into his side.

Neville toys sweetly with Hannah’s fingers, as they talk quietly before the fire.

Daphne’s head pillows on Padma’s lap, and Padma looks down with a smile.

Harry’s chest aches at the sight of so much bliss. All this-- this is what he died for. All this love and peace is exactly why he walked into the woods alone.

Malfoy sits down next to him on the couch, and Harry exhales a shaky breath. It feels good to let go-- it feels good to _want_.

 

**Fifteen**

Harry runs the towel over the length of hawthorn, polishing until it gleams. When he looks up, he catches Malfoy watching-- sees the longing for something that was once part of the fabric of him and the fear that it isn’t anymore.

He wonders if it’s cruel to do this. He doesn’t feel cruel, but something like guilt twists in his gut whenever he thinks about why he continues to wait.

But Malfoy needs to be ready, and Harry knows that he’ll ask for the wand back then. He just needs Malfoy to ask. When Malfoy asks, Harry will give.

 

**Sixteen**

The Snitch zips between them, and Malfoy takes off like a curse. Harry laughs and flies after him. They’re close, their arms outstretched, fingers grasping for the tiny fluttering ball, and just as Harry thinks he’s got it, Malfoy finds an extra burst of speed. His fingers wrap around the Snitch and he pulls up so short Harry nearly plows into him.

“I won!” he crows, thrusting his hand towards Harry’s face.

Harry grabs his hand and tugs him closer.

Malfoy stops laughing, and his eyes dart down to Harry’s lips. He sucks in a breath, and Harry leans in.

 

**Seventeen**

Harry awakens on a gasp that may have been a scream. His eyes dart back and forth, but he can’t see-- it’s too blurred, too dark. His hands don’t seem to work as he scrambles for his wand. He has to cast again-- he missed, and he needs to cast again or they will all die.

“I-- I can’t!” he cries out.

“Potter, stop.” Malfoy’s voice is always gentle, but so firm.

Malfoy leans forward to slip Harry’s glasses on. Their breath mingles in the small space until Malfoy closes the distance and presses cool lips to Harry’s hot forehead.

 

**Eighteen**

It’s on the tip of Harry’s tongue to offer as he watches Malfoy struggle to perform the delicate movements required of the charm they’re learning. He thinks of the hawthorn wand in its box in his trunk, and how easily Malfoy could cast if he had the right tool. He could get up and retrieve it, give it to Malfoy and have done with this game.

Malfoy turns to him then, as if he’d read Harry’s mind. He opens his mouth, and Harry holds his breath.

“Potter, I…” He trails off, looks away.

Harry manages to hold back a sigh.

 

**Nineteen**

Malfoy flicks his borrowed wand and sends the chess pieces back into the box. He’s beaten Harry soundly, but Harry doesn’t care. He watches as Malfoy tries the charm once more to settle the pieces that haven’t quite made it into their slots.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Malfoy asks suddenly.

Startled, Harry’s gaze moves from the box to Malfoy’s lips without shame. And Malfoy must appreciate it because he curves them up into a smirk-- not the sneer Harry had seen so many times before, but something playful.

Harry doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he only nods.

 

**Twenty**

Harry expects to wake up from the dream any moment: at the tentative press of Malfoy’s lips against his own, at the soft exhalation that escapes him when Malfoy’s fingers come to rest on the sides of his face, when Malfoy’s tongue slides across and splits the seam of his lips to press inside.

But he doesn’t wake up. It isn’t a dream. Malfoy is really kissing him.

Harry hadn’t realized just how much he wanted it to happen, but now that Malfoy is here, now that Malfoy is kissing him, he realizes that he never wants it to stop.

 

**Twenty-One**

Harry finds their Golden Snitch on his pillow when he returns from breakfast. He smiles, picks it up and watches as it unfurls its wings and begins buzzing around the bedroom.

“Fancy a game later?”

Harry turns, and Malfoy’s standing in the doorway, leaned casual as you please against the frame. His eyes, though, betray the fear of rejection. His eyes always betray him, Harry thinks.

“Only if you want,” Malfoy adds, when Harry doesn’t respond quickly enough.

Harry crosses the space between them and presses up against Malfoy’s body. He kisses Malfoy as an answer. Because now he can.

 

**Twenty-Two**

It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it seems Harry is always there to witness. A Ravenclaw taunts a Slytherin who struggles to repack his supplies into a torn bag.

“Leave off, will you?” Harry calls out.

The Ravenclaw glares back. “And if I don’t?”

And that’s new: the defiance. It breaks Harry’s heart, but he knows why it happens. It’s easy enough to ignore when they’re together, Malfoy’s hand held tightly in his own.

He thought he’d died to end all this pettiness, but the truth is, change has to come slowly on the back of small gestures.

 

**Twenty-Three**

Malfoy’s mouth tastes like treacle. Harry moves in closer, lets their hard lines of their bodies press flush against each other and tries so hard to ignore the whispers that echo in his head.

_You saw them, didn’t you?_

_How could he?_

_Can’t believe Harry’s seeing that Death Eater filth!_

Because Harry doesn’t care what just anyone thinks about him-- he’s been through this before, been public enemy number one, been scorned for making the right choice.

This is the right choice, he knows. Malfoy is his choice.

Harry grins out of their kiss, and Malfoy’s lips curve up too.

 

**Twenty-Four**

They lie together on Harry’s bed trading languid kisses, hands seeking out skin beneath jumpers. Harry traces the curve of Malfoy’s hipbone with his thumb, dips it lower and feels the muscles twitch with anticipation, before trailing it back up again.

“Tease,” Malfoy whispers.

Harry closes his eyes, grinning, as Malfoy leans in and peppers his face with feather-light kisses. “Might say the same of you,” he replies.

“I’m much better at it.” Malfoy shifts down and sucks gently at the hollow of his throat.

Except that isn’t true. Harry’s been teasing Malfoy with what he wants for months now. 

 

**Twenty-Five**

Malfoy’s head hits the pillow, and his expression changes.

And Harry knows suddenly and unequivocally that it’s time.

“Potter, can I…” Malfoy trails off, and Harry can see in his eyes how difficult this is for him, even after all that’s happened between them. He’s still so scared to be vulnerable.

Harry understands that in his gut, and it’s why he’s now wavering a bit in his resolve to wait for Malfoy to ask him. He could make this so much easier on Malfoy. He could just hand the wand over, and then they could go back to kissing and touching and exploring each other’s bodies.

But if he did, then it wouldn’t mean as much. They’ve worked so hard to get here, it would be wrong to give up now. And Harry doesn’t give up.

“Go ahead, ask me,” he encourages, as he sits up straddling Malfoy’s hips.

Malfoy exhales a slow breath. “Potter, I want my wand. I know you have it, and I’d like it back,” he says, with barely a waver.

Harry laughs as he replies, “That wasn’t really a question.”

Malfoy just smiles and pushes himself back up to be kissed, and Harry obliges him.


End file.
